Code Veronica X: In Real Life
by CrystalGlacier
Summary: You are Kirsten: an average, moody teenager. One day, your curiosity backfires on you and you are sendt to the mysterious Rockfort Island. How are you, someone who rarely exercise and has never touched a videogame, going to stay alive?
1. Prologue

**AN: Am I really going to publish this? Am I? I was so blown away by the game, I thought it well deserved a "self"-insert. Even though I'm not going to write about myself this time. I'm going to write this like 1wingangel wrote her brilliant self-insert, although I'm not going to taint her good reputation by being associated with her. The only place else I have seen second-person view in present time is in the GIVE YOURSELF GOOSEBUMPS-series by R. L. Stine, something I find sad, because it really pulls you into the action, in my opinion. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, the next ones shall be longer. Unless you didn't like this, then I won't bother you. Enough ranting.**

**Oh, and by the way; I discourage anyone from smoking. Starting to do that is one of the dumbest things you can ever do. It costs a small fortune every year to keep that addiction up, and you're hurting yourself and others around you.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything associated with RE: CVX or other games/movies/comics/TV-shows/gods/fan-fictions/CD's/ kittens/books etc., I may make a reference to. There, I said it.**

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

A sudden gust of wind from the northest of icy North ruffles your braids and penetrates the fibers of your jacket, making you shiver. You sniffle in an attempt at keeping all unholy goo appropriately within the containment of your nose, and wrap your arms firmly around your body. Yeah, very windproof indeed. Without any sarcasm. At all. She-Hulk, your fuzzy elkhound, is yanking the leash impatiently and sniffing with zeal at the bottom of a phone booth.

"Are you going to piss, already?" you snap at her while breathing into your palms and rubbing them briskly against each other. "If I get pneumonia because of this, I'll never slip a piece of my dinner to you under the table again. Ya hear that, young lady?"

She sends you a quizzical look before barking loudly and continuing up the slope. The jerk of her leash almost makes you lose balance. All you can do is pout as she pulls you upwards, her tail wriggling of ignorant bliss. You curse loudly. The trip has lasted for over an hour, and she hasn't emptied her bladder once. You really don't want to miss your favorite show back in the warm coziness in your living room, on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, sipping a hot cup of cocoa. Mmm, that sounds so good right now. But here you are, freezing your butt off, the wind whipping your face mercilessly. Curses. The sock on your left foot is soaking wet. Seems like you've worn a hole in these pair of rainboots too. What a shame. You actually like these boots. Something attracts She-Hulk's attention again and she stiffens as she draws in frosty air through her nostrils. Her muzzle moves back and forth, as if trying to recapture the scent that made her stop. You raise an eyebrow and stuff your hand into the pocket of your jacket. A second later, a pack of cigarettes is fished out of it. It's a terrible habit and you know it, but you will stop. Just not right now. At the end of the school year. You pull the loop of the leash over your wrist and take out the lighter. The spark flickers and dies out the first couple of times, but then it flares up, glowing ominously in the dark evening. You bend your head closer to it to set fire to the cigarette squeezed in between your lips. She-Hulk's frantic bark makes you jump, your eyes glued to her in confusion. Suddenly she bolts forward, roughly jerking the leash off your wrist, sending the half-empty box flying out of your hand. You spit the cigarette out in shock and call out behind her.

"Hey!"

You rush after her, your shoes emitting squishy sounds as your wet socks are compressed between your feet and the rubber of the boots. She-Hulk zooms forward like a grey lightening, and you, you should really consider getting more exercise as you are no match to your distressed puppy. The snow and ice isn't helping much either, you slip and barely manage to get a hold of the iron pole of a street light before ramming into the ground. She-Hulk is barely visible now. You grit your teeth and continue after her, your heart pacing in your chest.

"She-Hulk! Come here, girl! Come here!"

But alas, she doesn't listen. You pass worn-down buildings as you run, guarded by wrecked fenced and rusted barrels containing some stuff you're not really interested in at the moment. Your heart is knocking like crazy against your ribcage, partially because of your god-awful stamina, partially because you realize you have never been in this area before. Your feet refuse to take you any longer and you go to an abrupt halt. Your shivering breaths condensates into white clouds of mist as they meet the cold, cruel air. Inside your head you pray with all your might to God that you have not just lost your dog. Your eyes dart back and forth and your voice sounds unusually frail as you whisper, "She-Hulk?"

Silence. You swallow.

"Where are you, girl?"

Still nothing. Now you're starting to get angry.

"Goddamn it, kid, where the hell have you gone to now?!"

A low whimper tickles your auditory canals. Your heart leaps of joy. With eagerness, you head towards the source of the sound. You soon find yourself scrutinizing the only fence that seems to be relatively intact in the area. You tangle your fingers in it and rest your forehead against the frosty metal. The building it is surrounding looks just about as worn-down as the others. Concrete is flaking off the brick walls, and there are several mysterious green stains all over the structure. Most of the windows are broken and all of them are barred shut with thick, rotting planks. You have never seen a building this shitty in your entire life and it fascinates you. You pucker your eyebrows upon seeing several trucks outside it. Clearly, no one is working there anymore. Who could possibly be ditzy enough to move their business and forget to bring their big-ass trucks with them? You look up; luckily, the fence doesn't have barbwire. You pull yourself up, the boots slipping a few times on the thick cords of metal intertwining each other before you manage to get a grip on the top and haul yourself over the fence. You look around you and listen; there are no sounds heard except the wind and whimpering. Not even traffic. You frown. Something is definitely not right.

"She-Hulk? Come here! Where'd you go?"

Your beloved puppy barks in response, but doesn't abide by your order. You dart between large piles of junk, past a truck and round a corner of the large structure. She-Hulk's brown eyes lighten up as they see you.

"There you are, girl!" You bend down to pet her and smile. "I thought I'd lost you there for a second."

She jumps up and tries to lick your face, but you back away with a smirk.

"Don't even think about it. I know where that tongue has been, young lady."

You suddenly realize what has caught She-Hulk's attention. An open door leading into the building of mystery.

"Jeez, kid, you put me through all this for a door?"

She just stares blankly at you. You sigh and tighten your hand around her leash. Then you freeze. An intense white gleam of bright light is peeking out of the opening between the wall and door, nearly blinding you as you stare at it. The little bubble of curiosity inside your twisted mind swells up to the extreme and proceeds to take control over your body and gently, but firmly, steer your hand to the handle and slowly push the door open. You squeeze your eyes shut and blink a few times. The hallway is a sterile white, the walls glassy and reflects you as you step in. You catch a glimpse of yourself, the tall, dark girl glancing back at you, looking just as bewildered as you are feeling. She-Hulk paws makes clicking sound as she strolls past you, urging you to follow. Since you are now in your curiosity's power, you make no attempt of resisting and go after her. Your eyes wander over the walls and stop by a symbol in the end of the hallway. You walk closer to get a good look at it. Three red triangles and three white ones put together to form an –

"Umbrella?"

You frown. Haven't you seen this somewhere before?

* * *

_Adam, your pesky big brother, was sitting with his eyes glued to the TV-screen and the controller firmly clasped in his gamer-hands, his right knee quavering with excitement. You glanced somewhat __uninterested over his shoulder. Resident Evil 4, eh? How many of those games did he own now? Not much action went on, anyway. Someone was yapping something about umbrellas and zombies, and the image suddenly changed to –_

"_Holy crap, _that's_ the protagonist?" you exclaimed wide-eyed as the camera focused on the stunning face of a young man. "Sweet Mary, mother of God, he is HOT! I have to play!"_

"_No way, man!" Adam protested when you reached for the controller. "Keep your greedy fingers to yourself!"_

"_Don't be a cheap bastard, just hand it over!"_

"_Never! Mom, Kirsten is trying to mug me!"_

"_Don't mug your brother, Kirsten," your mother answered, not breaking her concentration from the newspaper. You grumbled and let go of your cheap excuse for a brother. _

"_Fine. Keep your stupid game to yourself."_

* * *

You shake your head. Well, that was helpful. A gasp somewhere to your left attracts your attention, and you swiftly turn your head, only to lock eyes with another man. He is wearing something that appears to be random, white plastic bags cut up and taped to his body. The lower part of his face is covered by a doctor's mask and hides his facial expression, but his marble-shaped eyes and raised eyebrows tell you that he had not expected to see anyone of your like in here. She-Hulk yanks the leash, wanting to greet the peculiar man as he eyes you up and down. You scoff. If he thinks he can out-eye you, he is dead wrong. No one eyes people better than you can. But before you are able to crush him in competition, he steps back in horror and zooms into a room. You raise an eyebrow and follow.

"Ah!" he exclaims. In desperation, he snatches a broom nearby and gestures threateningly towards you with it. "Stand back! I have called security!"

Now both of your eyebrows are raised and you lift your hands in defense. "Who-hoah, easy there, bagboy. Mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"

"Stand back!" he repeats once more. You sigh and look around. White, white, white. How incredibly dull. Several jars with illegible labels are neatly arranged on shelves in the room. Piles of over-scribbled papers and test tubes containing some suspicious liquids are decorating all the tables, leaving you to believe that this may be a small lab of some sorts. Then you flinch. This _is_ a small lab of some sorts. Bitches, man.

A brutal jab by the broom roughly pulls you from your thoughts, the pole missing your eye by inches. You stagger backwards in shock and clamp your hand on the part he hit.

"What the hell is your problem?!" you spit in anger and seize the broom, preventing him from attacking again. "What'd you do that for?"

"Get out!" he demands and tries to jerk the broom out of your hands. "No spy survives long in Umbrella's facilities!"

"What are you talking about?" you growl and pull She-Hulk closer to you. "Do I look like a damned spy to you?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but suddenly shift his eyes to a point behind you. You swiftly turn around to see what has caught his attention and flinch when you're staring straight into the barrel of a gun. The male guard attached to it has that unpleasant I'm-going-to-eat-your-baby-and-steal-your-kidneys kind of facial expression and a physique that would have made Superman cringe in shame over his own inadequateness. He smirks, lowers the gun – and pulls the trigger.

You blink. You are still alive. A burning sensation in your shoulder sends powerful electrical pulses through your nervous system. You dare to take a peek, and manage to catch a glimpse of a dart plunged into your body before your head gets heavy and your vision blurs. You lift your hand to your face, as if trying to support your head, before the world darkens and fades away. A gentle thud, and then nothing.

* * *


	2. Chapter 1: Prisoner

**AN: A big thanks for your great reviews! Hooray! They motivate me to keep writing! As I'm playing the game, I'm growing more and more concerned. So… many… puzzles! This will be a challenge to write! **

**PS: Sorry for the cussing. I know it puts many people off, me included, but I feel that an angry outburst isn't quite believable without it.**

**PPS: Terribly sorry about the length, or rather absence of, this chapter! I'm having a writer's block – BIG time – and I felt that I had reached the best spot to end the chapter.**

* * *

Chapter one: Prisoner

* * *

You slide in and out of consciousness, your senses becoming clearer by every second. At least a dozen ogres are having a brutal barfight inside your skull, the battle growing more and more intense. You squeeze your eyes firmly shut. Oh, that's a rough fight alright; stools, beer bottles and Chelsea fans are bouncing off the walls in your cranium. Or, that's what it feels like. It takes a few moments for you to realize that you are lying on the floor, with your hands tied behind your back and a bag over your head. Your cheek is scuffing against rough fabric, a bitter scent of coffee seeping into your nostrils. This position is uncomfortable. You roll on your back in an attempt at releasing the strain on your cheek, only to be replaced by painful protests of your arms. The handcuffs dig into your flesh. This isn't working.

You gather all of your remaining strength to roll back onto your stomach and stagger to your knees. A wheezing sound emerges from your lungs as you pull in a shivering breath. Your actions turn your head into a freaking warzone, where all of the participants are allowed to use tanks and Weapons of Mass Destruction. Saliva slips through your lips and you groan, attempting to utter a rather colorful string of curses. Ignoring the pounding headache, you bend down and squeeze the loose part of the bag between your knees. Then you pull yourself up. Darn. They have tightened the bottom of the bag around your throat. They have thought of everything to make you miserable, haven't they? Whoever they are. But you refuse to give up. After your third attempt, the bag comes off; uncovering the dimly lit room you are in.

Your dark eyes move over the boxes stacked on in piles and top of each other, surrounding you like the wooden walls of a fortress. Perilous creaks are emitted from them in tact with the swaying movements of the room, a whirring, mechanical hum endorsing the sounds as a background noise. Utter bafflement engenders a crease between your brows, which you are still beating yourself up for overplucking. Flies buzzes around the fluorescent tubes fixed to the ceiling, bumping the glass every few seconds as if they are in a euphoric trance. The incandescent light cast harsh shadows, illuminating every item in a blue glow.

"Man," you whisper throatily, a lump of frustration growing inside your esophagus. Uncanny men have sedated you, bagged your head, handcuffed your wrists and thrown you into a storage room like a sack of potatoes. They could have just let you go. They far overvalue themselves if they think themselves worthy enough of a gossip topic between you and the authorities.

Biting back a groan, you totter to your feet and squeeze your eyes shut as another jolt of pain wallops against the inside of your forehead. As soon as it ceases, you open your eyes again and moves your gaze around the white surface of the walls in the room, arching your head a little upon seeing the same umbrella-shaped symbol. The same damned one. This only validates your suspicion that these guys are something far else than the harmless icon they are hiding behind - if not, they must be the most evil umbrella-making company in history.

A metallic click sounds behind you and you clench your fist as you spin around to see what caused it. The silhouette of a man peeks in from behind a door slowly being pushed open and your eyes dash back and forth in a desperate search for a hiding spot. Or a weapon. You don't feel too sure about that one.

The man who steps in is clothed from head to toe in a dirty green uniform, his cap covering his eyes as his head is inclining down towards a paper he is clutching in his gloved hand. He flinches as he looks up and spots you, an expression of surprise crossing his face before it is replaced with indifference.

"Well, well, well, we have ourselves a little Houdini, haven't we?" he remarks dryly and returns his attention to the paper as he jots something down. "Not for long, though. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"That's none of your damned business," you spit back through gritted teeth. "Call me 'sweetheart' again, and I'll slam your nose into the back of your head. Is that clear?"

The soldier chuckles, his face twisted in mockery. "I'd like to see you try that, with your hands chained behind you." His eyes darken, his upper lip curling in an involuntary snarl. "You better watch your language, love, unless you want this to become more gory than necessary."

"Bite me," you retort before your conscious thought has the time to stop your words.

The man snorts in detest. "Suit yourself."

Footsteps approach somewhere behind the door and you step back as two more soldiers saunter into the room, peering down at you over raised chins.

"Well, then," the first soldier says, "I'll ask you again; what is your name?"

You swallow. More mouth than brain have you always been, but you are not directly stupid. "Haixuna. Kirsten Haixuna."

The soldier's pen scrapes with swift movements on the surface of the paper. "Kirsten… Haixuna… okay. Your age?"

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen…"

The solder's gaze meets yours, and begins to wander up and down your body. Heat rushes to your cheeks in humiliation under his scrutinizing stare.

"Hmm," he mutters after a while, more to himself than anyone else. "Approximately 5'8, hundred-and-fifty-five pounds… African-Americ-"

"_Excuse me?"_ you cut him off, your anger flaring up. "American? Are you fucking kidding me? _American?_ I'm from goddamned Britain, you brick-headed jackass! Don't you loony hoodlums even know what bloody country you abduct people from?"

A muscle contracts in the soldiers jaw as he sends you a heated glare, his pen racing over the paper with angry motions. "African-_British_... PS: bad attitude."

With a final jot of his pen, he turns on his heel and vanishes from the room, leaving you alone with the two brawny soldiers. The tallest of them ambles towards you, his face laced with ennui. Your heart raps painfully in your chest as your body is being pumped full of stress-hormones. You are trapped. Trapped like a cougar in a cage. As he inches within your range, seemingly oblivious to the powerful effect he has on you, your brain sends a panicky electrical pulse to the muscles in your right leg, causing you to swing it up – devastatingly thrashing your foot into the man's groin.

His eyes widen in a moment's surprise before his face twists in agony, a wheezing sound emanating from his lungs as he inhales a large amount of oxygen and double over. You peer down at him, slightly astonished over your own actions. A motion in the corner of your eye attracts your attention and you look up, barely having the time to register the other soldier's movements as he raises his rifle and thrust it towards your head, slamming you off your feet. All you register is the sound of your body hitting the floor together with a stream of blasphemous cussing from the soldier you attacked before your senses dissolve and slip away.

* * *

"Jesus, she's heavy."

"Quit whining, you're the genius who knocked her out."

"She kicked you! What was I supposed to do?"

"She has plenty other bodyparts you could have gone for, but _no_. You went for the head. You _always_ go for the head. Remember Robin Stone? The two-hundred-and- thirty pound bodybuilder? We had to drag him over ten kilometers through the woods because of you!"

"Jeez, are you bringing that up again?"

"Yes, Larry, I'm bringing that up again, because you never seem to learn, do you? I'll never touch anyone you've rendered unconscious ever again."

"C'mon, Johnny…"

"Don't 'Johnny' me! She's your problem now!"

"Well, you're _welcome_, you ungrateful bastard! Maybe I should kick your groin too!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

As you dangle limp over a soldier's shoulder, your head bumping against his back with every step he takes, a slideshow of violent acts upon him is played within your head to keep yourself from repeating the sentence; "Worst. Headache. Ever" inside your skull again and again. Because that pretty much sums it all up. Splitting, pounding balloons of pain rapidly swelling up inside your cranium only to deflate itself for a split second before it pumps up once more. Over and over and over. Like the beat of an amateur drummer.

Pound.

Pound.

Pound.

You must have reached your destination, because your captor stops and brutally drops you down, causing your head to slam into hard concrete. Your vision blurs, colorful dots permeating it as your abdomen constrict in an attempt of emptying your stomach. You swallow repeatedly, wanting to keep your lunch down. With barely audible groans, you roll onto your side and curl yourself into a ball.

If you lie completely still, the throbbing might go away.

Possibly.

Maybe.

… Probably not.

Your nails dig into your skin as you tighten your fingers around your upper arms, trying to drown your headache with a more pleasant pain.

You certainly wouldn't mind getting a new dosage of that sedative…

* * *


	3. Chapter 3: A Note

**No, it's a lie. This ain't no new chapter, it's a personal note about this fanfic.**

**I have walked myself neckdeep into a pile of shit, I must say. I have not updated this in a long, long, time and this count for the other fanfics I'm currently writing too. This is because, over night, my motivation for writing has just vanished and I seem not to deprive any pleasure of it anymore. A natural consequence of that is that I can't juggle three fanfics at once, and until I manage to remove the major writing block that has clogged up my brain, this one has to go.**

**One important reason for this is as Code Veronica X is indeed a great game, I'm not sure how I can write about endless series of puzzle-solving and backtracking without boring myself and the reader to death. Another reason is that my OC is deeply flawed and a stereotype.**

**I have only recently become aware of my overwhelming ignorance when it comes to gender- and racial issues non-Caucasian women face. As someone so blatantly put it, African American women are often portrayed by the media as being "the angry black bitch". **

**I can only blame my ignorance on myself. I wanted to make a character similar to Heather Mason from Silent Hill 3, and seeing as African Americans very rarely are presented in games and fanfictions, I decided to make her African American, unwillingly creating a tired stereotype.**

**I am sorry to the ones who enjoyed the first chapters of my fanfic. If I do decide to continue it, I have to revamp the whole thing.**


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